


kiss me like forgiveness

by peterandhispirate



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Resentment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 12:59:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19151500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterandhispirate/pseuds/peterandhispirate
Summary: Tony couldn't help but stare. There was something about the unexpected softness of the Soldier's face: vulnerabililty punctuated by runaway strands of hair. He almost felt honored. God knows that if he was the one sitting in that chair, he wouldn't trust Bucky enough to fall asleep.But Bucky trusted him.





	kiss me like forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> title from "bodily" by clementine von radics

It was no secret that Tony Stark was a man with many enemies. And as a man with many enemies, he had a long list of people he didn't want to see without fair warning.  
  
Bucky Barnes happened to be on that list. For obvious reasons.  
  
Not only did Tony not want to run into Barnes out of the blue, but he didn't want to see the bastard _ever_. After Serbia, he could live a long and healthy life without having to be in the same room as the guy.  
  
Which is why he started foaming at the mouth when he looked up and saw the Winter Soldier himself standing at the threshold of his lab.  
  
"Who the hell let you in?" were the first words out of Tony's mouth, accompanied by an unfriendly crossing of the arms and an equally unfriendly narrowing of the eyes.  
  
Bucky's hands - the same hands that quite literally choked the life out of Tony's mother - were stuffed in his pockets. "The nice lady with the ponytail."  
  
"I should kill you," Tony said, practically snarled it, and for a split second Bucky's eyes were more white than blue. "You know that, right?"  
  
"I need your help," Bucky admitted, but he didn't seem ashamed. This wasn't a dog-crawling-to-a-doorstep situation, and for some reason, that made Tony even angrier. Like he was being deprived of his one chance to make the Winter Soldier feel powerless.  
  
"Help with what? Murdering innocent civilians?" Frost. There was frost in Tony's voice. "Because I think you've got that one covered."  
  
Bucky winced then - a detail so small and brief that it was easy to miss. But Tony didn't miss it. No, he savored that shit. It was wrong, but he savored it.  
  
"It's just... My arm. My arm is fucked up, and you were the first person I thought of."  
  
"And what if I say no?" Tony asked, setting his jaw. "Are you gonna go all Winter Soldier on me? Huh?"  
  
Bucky's eyes were steel-steady. "I'd never."  
  
For a good fifteen seconds they just stared at each other from across the room, Bucky a brick wall of patience and Tony a seething ball of wrath. The longer they eyed one another, the less heated Tony seemed to get until he finally heaved a sigh and said, "Y'know what? Fine. _Fine_. I'll fix your damn arm. Now get over here and sit down."  
  
And Bucky did just that, because he'd always been good at following orders.  
  
Tony approached him like one would approach a wild animal, and somewhere along the way he realized how small Bucky looked in comparison to the chair. How cornered. Like he was sitting in the jaws of a goddamn lion.  
  
But Bucky wasn't small. Hell, he'd gained weight since Tony last saw him. And yet the chair swallowed him.  
  
"So, Robocop, what seems to be the problem?" Tony asked once he reached him, not even bothering to sound invested in the response.  
  
Was he being an unreasonable dick? Maybe. But he liked to think he'd earned that right.  
  
"Can't feel my fingers," Bucky mumbled. "It's like they've been disconnected or something."  
  
"Roll up your sleeve," Tony said before promptly grimacing at his own words, like he couldn't _believe_ he was playing nurse with the Winter Soldier.  
  
Doing as he was told, Bucky rolled up his sleeve, leaving Tony to furrow his eyebrows in horror at the exposed alloy. It was peppered with scrapes and dents, and if Tony had to guess, he'd say it was thrown together in fifteen minutes by some wannabe engineer still living in his parents' basement.  
  
"Where'd you get this thing?"  
  
"Ebay," Bucky admitted. "Shuri offered to build me a new one, but she'd already done so much... I figured this was good enough."  
  
Tony gave him a withering look. "It's a piece of shit."  
  
_Perfect for you, really._  
  
"Yeah." Bucky seemed almost embarrassed, which was rare. "I'm realizing that now."  
  
Tony worked in complete and utter silence. It was unusual to see him so quiet - unnerving, even - but it's not like Bucky could blame him for having nothing to say. So the Soldier sat deathly still while Tony combed through the contents of his arm, looking for damaged parts as if he cared.  
  
They coexisted in that mutual hush until Tony finally straightened up and said, "Try making a fist."  
  
Bucky tried, and his fingers curled neatly into an aluminum wrecking ball.  
  
"Yeah," he said, painfully relieved. "Much better."  
  
The crossed arms and narrowed eyes made a reappearance. "You're so very welcome. Now get the hell out of my lab."  
  
Bucky rose from the chair like Frankenstein's monster, and Tony expected him to leave without a word. But he didn't. He turned, ran the repaired hand through his hair, and said, "Thank you. I really appreciate it."  
  
"Try not to kill anyone's parents on your way out," Tony replied, but it didn't have the same bite. The longer Bucky looked at him, all sober and sincere, the more steam he lost until he was running on fumes alone.  
  
Bucky's eyes were mirrors, and Tony was disappointed in his reflection. "Wouldn't dream of it."  
  
He left.  
  
Tony breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
                                                ;

"Did those Hydra bastards really fry your brain so bad that you can't take a hint?"  
  
Bucky shrugged, a goliath in the doorway. "I guess."  
  
Tony snorted and said, "Figures."  
  
It had only been a week since Bucky's last appearance, and after all the shit Tony had given him, he hadn't expected to see him again for at least ten years. But there he was, as casual as ever.  
  
Tony didn't know how to feel. He was kind of impressed, honestly.  
  
"What's the problem now?" Tony asked, which Bucky took as an invitation to pass the threshold. His hair was tucked delicately behind his ears; he was wearing at least three layers of clothing, despite the fact that it was mid-July. Maybe all that time in the cryo had left him with permanent chills. Or maybe he was just self-conscious.  
  
"It's gotten worse," Bucky said, coming to a stop several feet in front of Tony. "Can't feel anything up to my elbow."  
  
And Tony's eyebrows furrowed, because that wasn't good. "Are you serious?"  
  
Bucky nodded.  
  
"Well, shit. Better sit down so I can fix this problem for good."  
  
Taking a seat in the same chair as last time, Bucky waited patiently for Tony to approach him and start peeling back the metal plating, scanning the mechanics for whatever the hell he'd missed. The longer he looked it over, the more frustrated he seemed to get until he finally threw in the towel and said, "I think we should just scrap the whole thing."  
  
Bucky blinked, rightfully caught off guard. "Scrap my arm?"  
  
"Yes, scrap your arm. Keep up, cyborg boy."  
  
"Will I get a new one?" Bucky asked in earnest, as if Tony was just going to toss the prosthetic in the trash and send him on his way.  
  
"Sure," Tony said, shrugging. "Should be easy enough to make."  
  
Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again to murmur, "You don't have to do that for me."  
  
"Really?" Tony's gasp was Broadway-worthy. "In that case, take care of it yourself. One less thing for me to do."  
  
Judging by the crease in his forehead, Bucky was struggling to determine if that was a joke or not. His confusion was so saddening that eventually Tony had to sigh and say, "I'll make you the damn arm. Should be done within a couple days."  
  
The tension melted out of Bucky's shoulders like butter. "Thank you."  
  
Rather than offering up a simple "you're welcome" and moving on, Tony just looked at him evenly for awhile, thoughtful. Then he said, "You tried to shoot me in the face one time. Remember that?"  
  
"Not really, no," Bucky admitted, sheepish.  
  
"Of course not."  
  
"Sorry." He meant it.  
  
Fuck, at least he meant it.  
  
"Yeah, well, apology not accepted."  
  
Bucky's mouth twitched, and the shape of it would override Tony's brain for the rest of the day.                                           

                                              ;

The afternoon Bucky was scheduled to have the new prosthetic attached, he walked into Tony's lab with bags under his eyes so dark that they could pass as bruises.  
  
Tony opted not to comment on it. They weren't friends; it wasn't his place. Besides, there was nothing to say. He knew just by looking at him that Bucky's time with Hydra served as the cornerstone for all his bad dreams. He could see it in the way his fingers twitched and his jaw tightened and his legs trembled. Like something had been stolen from him, but he didn't know what it was.  
  
Tony also knew that you always came out of a nightmare different than how you entered it. And Bucky was different.  
  
"You sure you're up for this?" Tony asked once Bucky had settled into the chair; the Soldier responded with a simple _yeah_.  
  
So Tony got to work.  
  
The new arm looked similar to the original one - different alloy, same general feel. If it was Tony's arm, he would've made it firetruck red or some shit, but he figured Bucky wasn't that kind of guy. Not anymore.  
  
"I like it," Bucky said when Tony showed him the merchandise, managing a genuine smile despite the crippling exhaustion. "I really like it."  
  
Tony raised both eyebrows and said, "Good, because I'm not making you another one."  
  
Bucky seemed to think that was fair.  
  
Swapping out the prosthetics was a lengthy process, mainly because Tony wanted it to be as painless as possible. As if he cared about Bucky's well-being. As if he didn't want him to experience at least a fraction of the suffering Howard and Maria endured at his hands.  
  
Was that something he wanted? Maybe. He wasn't entirely sure.  
  
Tony was so absorbed in his work that he didn't really notice when Bucky started to doze off, eyelids getting droopier and droopier until he finally fell asleep. He didn't stir, didn't snore, didn't do anything but steal back the shuteye he'd lost.  
  
Then the mumbling started.  
  
"Одеяло, пожалуйста?"  
  
Naturally, that got Tony's attention: his head snapped up so fast that he nearly got whiplash. Going perfectly still, he stole a startled glance at Bucky's face, breathless and unblinking, like he was trying his best to tell the difference between real life and hyper-realistic hallucinations.  
  
But no, it wasn't a hallucination, because Bucky repeated himself a few moments later, a little more desperate this time: "Одеяло... пожалуйста?"  
  
Tony couldn't help but stare. There was something about the unexpected softness of the Soldier's face: vulnerabililty punctuated by runaway strands of hair. He almost felt honored. God knows that if he was the one sitting in that chair, he wouldn't trust Bucky enough to fall asleep.  
  
But Bucky trusted him.  
  
Bucky _trusted_ him.  
  
If Tony thought about that for too long, he'd have a nervous breakdown. So he went back to work.  
  
By the time Bucky lifted his sweet sleepy head, the new prosthetic was fastened securely to his shoulder; Tony was on the other side of the lab, already working on some new project that would undoubtedly keep him up all night. He saw Bucky stir out of the corner of his eye and turned, leaning against the worktable with his arms crossed.  
  
"Morning, Bionic Woman. You've been out for awhile. I was kinda hoping you'd die in your sleep."  
  
"What year is it?" Bucky asked in a mumble, painfully sincere, and because Tony was an asshole, he looked him right in the eye and said, "2050."  
  
Naturally, Bucky started to panic: he sat bolt upright, baby blues flitting around in a fit of hysteria.  
  
"You're kidding, right?" His voice splintered at the ends, and it broke Tony's heart. "Where's Steve?"  
  
Tony raised both hands as if to soothe a nervous dog. "Easy, big guy. It was a joke."  
  
A pause. And then, "Oh."  
  
Suddenly swamped with guilt, Tony watched Bucky sink back into the chair like he just aged fifty years. The regret crept up Tony's throat like a bile, bitter and unwelcome; rather than apologizing, he opted to change the subject, because he'd always been good at that.  
  
"Hey, has anyone ever told you that you talk in your sleep?" he asked, wandering a little closer to the Soldier. "Not in English. In Russian."  
  
Bucky snorted a humorless snort and refused to look him in the eye. "Doesn't surprise me."  
  
"Huh," Tony muttered, scratching absently at his beard. Then he thought _fuck it_ and asked a more personal question: "Ever been to therapy?"  
  
Bucky shifted in the chair and said, "Nah. It's not really my thing."  
  
"Yeah? Why's that?"  
  
"I dunno. When I was growing up, nobody gave a shit about 'discussing your feelings' or whatever. It was all about shock therapy and lobotomies and locking people away." Bucky swallowed like there was glass lodged in his throat. "Psychological shit was shameful and scary, so people didn't really... Get help. Not that I need it. Help, I mean."  
  
"Of course not. You're clearly the pinnacle of mental wellness," Tony said dryly, and Bucky just shrugged, looking small.  
  
"I don't want anyone to worry about me. That's all."  
  
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don't give a shit about you or your feelings."  
  
"Good," Bucky mumbled, finally sliding out of the chair with his head down. "It's better that way."  
  
Tony watched him leave without a word.

  
                                             ;

Bucky didn't show his face again for a good three weeks, which Tony had mixed feelings about. On one hand, he still hated the guy for all the blood he'd spilled in Hydra's name - his mother's blood. Tony's _mother_.  
  
Some things were unforgivable.  
  
On the other hand, Barnes was just as much of a victim as Maria, and as much as Tony hated to admit it, he had a certain charm to him. Maybe it was the messy hair, or the big sad eyes, or the way he moved: painfully gentle but also kind of clumsy.  
  
Charming. Barnes was charming.  
  
That's why Tony didn't lose his shit when Bucky poked his head back into the lab on a Friday afternoon, lingering in the doorway like a shy vampire. Upon noticing him, Tony sighed and said, "Let me guess: the new arm is acting up."  
  
Bucky shook his head, approaching him slow and steady. "It's perfect."  
  
"Then why are you here?" Tony asked, mildly suspicious at that point. "Is it bring your parents' killer to work day or something?"  
  
Shaking his head again, Bucky stopped to hand Tony an envelope, which he accepted with furrowed brows. Turning it over in his hands, Tony took a few moments to study it before saying, "Pardon me for asking, but why didn't you just mail this to me?"  
  
Bucky just shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I dunno. Wanted to deliver it in person I guess."  
  
Mentally steeling himself for whatever the hell he was about to read, Tony tore open the envelope and found himself looking at one of those cheesy Hallmark cards that grandmas loved so much. There were puppies on it and everything.  
  
_Thanks for all you do!_ the front of the card read, and Tony felt his stomach twist.  
  
He flipped it open and was immediately greeted by old-timey cursive that made him feel like he was holding a homoerotic love letter from the thirties.  
  
_Tony,_  
  
_Brainwashing or no brainwashing, I know you'll never really forgive me for what I did. And that's okay. I wouldn't forgive me, either. If I could go back in time and trade places with them, I would. All of them. Your mom especially._  
  
Tony's insides were wound up into a ball of twine at that point, but he kept reading. He had to.  
  
_I know you didn't want to help me, but you did anyway, and I'm really grateful. It would've been so easy to turn me away. That's not who you are, though. I know that much. So thank you._  
  
_\- Bucky_  
  
Tony didn't realize there were tears in his eyes until he reached that damn name. And it was through those tears that he read the note scribbled like a confession just below it.  
  
_I think we could've been friends in another life. Or maybe not. I don't know. I hope so._  
  
He scanned those last few sentences over and over and over again, only looking up when the words became too blurry to read.  
  
Bucky was long gone.  
  
So Tony fumbled for his phone like it was a lifeline, dialing Steve's number in a fit of panic and shame and the need to start over.  
  
"Hello?" Steve answered, seeming almost concerned, and Tony managed to speak around the lump in his throat.  
  
"Tell Barnes he can stop by whenever he wants."

  
                                              ;

Bucky did, in fact, stop by. Multiple times, actually. They never discussed the thank you card. Maybe there was nothing to talk about. It was time to move on - or try to, anyway.  
  
They were trying. That's all that mattered.  
  
On one evening in particular, Bucky wandered into the lab and found Tony hunched over a table's worth of machinery. Music was playing while he worked. Old-timey music. Old enough to remind Bucky of the horribly distant past.  
  
"I know this song," he piped up, startling Tony, who relaxed once he spun around and glimpsed the Soldier's sweet face.  
  
Strange, to find comfort in something that used to incite violence.  
  
"Doesn't surprise me," Tony replied after catching his breath. "It's ancient. Like you."  
  
Bucky raised both eyebrows. "Harsh."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry. Would you prefer seasoned?"  
  
"I think," Bucky said slowly, "I would prefer a dance."  
  
He held out a hand then - the metallic one - and Tony just looked at it for awhile, sort of wistful. Like he'd been transported to some alternate universe where they'd forgiven each other enough to fall in love.  
  
Maybe they didn't _need_ another universe for that.  
  
So Tony took Bucky's hand, and Bucky pulled him in close, and Tony looked up at him and said, "Better not step on my feet, big guy."  
  
Bucky smiled. "I'll be careful. I promise."  
  
They swayed like lovesick teenagers, and for someone who hadn't slow-danced since the forties, Bucky was surprisingly good at it. Tony could almost picture him as that bright-eyed, bushy-tailed sergeant with the slicked-back hair and dynamite smile. The one who got all the girls.  
  
Before Zola. Before Hydra. _Before_.  
  
"You remind me of Steve," Bucky piped up out of nowhere, derailing Tony's train of thought with the quiet fondness of his voice. "Before the serum, I mean. So small."  
  
"I can't believe you just compared me to Old Man Rogers. I'm hurt, Buck."  
  
"You'll get over it," Bucky insisted, eyes simmering with warmth and hands sitting pretty on Tony's hips - hopelessly gentle in spite of his reputation, and yet steady enough to anchor Iron Man himself to Earth.  
  
God knows that Tony was happy enough to float off into space.  
  
It was that pure, unbridled joy that made him poke Bucky in the chest and announce, "I'm gonna take you to dinner." Not a suggestion. A promise.  
  
"When?"  
  
"Tomorrow night?"  
  
"Can't," Bucky said, seeming oddly proud. "I've got an appointment."  
  
"What kind of appointment?" Tony asked, more curious than anything, and Bucky looked fifty pounds lighter when he said, "A therapy thing."  
  
Something tender bloomed in Tony's chest then - the flowerbed of recovery. It was a pain in the ass to maintain, but getting to watch the buds open made all that trimming and watering and waiting so fucking worth it.  
  
"I'm proud of you," Tony told him, voice uncharacteristically soft; it was the quiet determination of Bucky's face, the soft jaw and the kind eyes and the stubble, that compelled him to lean up and grace the Soldier's mouth with a kiss. It was short, and it was sweet, but Bucky was humming against his lips with contentment, and that was all Tony could really ask for.  
  
"I was gonna save that for our first date," he admitted once they broke apart, "but I got impatient."  
  
"That makes two of us," Bucky said, but it was almost a growl, low and hungry and painfully in love. So he leaned down and caught Tony in another kiss, this one greedier than the last. Tony's fingers curled tight around the Soldier's biceps, and Bucky cupped his face in calloused hands, groaning into it like an aching teenager. They were clumsy - out of practice - but it didn't even matter. Bucky was an ex-assassin with starry eyes, and Tony had fallen for him, and that was enough.  
  
"You can spend the night if you want. I'll let you sleep in the freezer," Tony offered after awhile, squeezing his shoulder, and Bucky laughed.  
  
Despite everything, the smile was still dynamite.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @bastardbeck on tumblr if you wanna say hi


End file.
